


the subject tonight

by chayaasi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Thorki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chayaasi/pseuds/chayaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crown prince returns after centuries away, but Thor isn't the only one who dazzles anymore. <br/>Or; oh my, how Loki has grown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic trope: brothers separate. brothers reunite. brothers realize how sexy they've become.

In the middle of the feast celebrating the crown prince’s return to Asgard, Balder’s wine turns to snakes in his cup. 

Like the rest of the warriors seated about her at the endless table, Sif teeters tipsily on the edge of amusement and pity as the third prince lets out a startled, unmanly scream at the slippery beasts winding their way into the crevices of his armor. Those revelers already deep into their cups giggle, while others titter sympathetically, still others half-heartedly condemn the prank and rush over to be of service to the young prince. 

Only Thor, warm with drink and good cheer, laughs loudly from his privileged place at the head of the table. “A clever trick!” he raises a toast to the air near Balder. “Albeit a waste of good wine!”

“A bit of fun,” the air replies and the engineer of said fun fades into view with a small bow. He briefly regards the revelry with remote nonchalance before his shaded green gaze lights upon reproachful Balder. 

“Right, little brother?” he asks pointedly, and without waiting for a reply, he waves an elegant hand to vanish the snakes in a puff of green smoke. 

At this moment, Sif would like to think she is not gaping, but she is, and it’s alright because Thor is too. The golden prince looks more stunned than she can ever remember seeing him and Sif can’t blame him because never in ten centuries would she have recognized that that handsome dark-haired trickster was Loki. 

But it is Loki who lifts his own cup of mead with a smile that is at once haunting and mischievous. “Welcome back, brother.”

A few moments pass before Thor can articulate a coherent reply. 

**

Their coming of age had been a time of turbulence and transformation. They had barely finished formal schooling and Thor already had dreams of adventure beyond sparring in the ring and hunting game on Asgardian grounds. By the time Odin had finally given into his eldest son’s wheedling, the prince’s companions were also ready to ride with him out into the universe in all its wondrous and treacherous glory. 

It takes Thor and his companions the better part of four centuries to see it all. Four hundred years are a blur of constant adventure, battle, and trial from the topmost branches to the darkest nooks of Yggdrasil; of opening their souls to enchanted spaces, and guarding their backs in foreign courts. They all change, one by one: Sif overcomes her doubts and wears her confidence like a shining mantle, while Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun cement their dynamic and begin to call themselves the Warriors Three. For his part, Thor pushes himself to all manner of limits to become the kind of warrior he’s always seen in his mind’s eye, until at last, there are few weapons he cannot completely master and fewer foes he cannot vanquish. 

The five of them seek out and soak up new experiences like sand, and by the time the All-Father finally bids them to return, their entire world is encompassed of only them, and their transformation as marked by growing bones, pages of hard-earned wisdom, and expanded horizons. 

They are hailed in Asgard as heroes bearing spoils and stories, feasted and feted endlessly as if they are the sole center of the shining realm, but for the first time since their return, they’re taken aback by another’s metamorphosis. 

The prince Loki of their youth had been an undersized, awkward bookworm who preferred his own company to that of others. He’d loathed the attention that seemed to nourish his brothers, but there is no trace of that person in this trickster who announced his arrival with a spectacle. This man looks like a finely crafted blade. He is tall and slender and finely toned; his eyes are mossy green like his regalia, and glitter wickedly like the golden points of his ceremonial armor as he slots himself beside Thor as naturally as Mjolnir--the sleek, sharp-edged complement to the hammer’s crushing might. His smile reminds Sif of a magician’s spark, a bright blinding flash meant to distract the receiver from the machinations behind it.

“By the Nine and all the Norns,” Fandral murmurs with somewhat of a connoisseur's tone. “Not bad at all.”

“You’d have a better chance with the valkyr Brynhilde.” Sif retorts brusquely, and takes a swallow of mead to cover up her own indiscreet staring. 

“Ah lady, I daresay he puts all the beauties I’d previously known to shame,” Fandral replies and then thinks on his words. “Surely, you agree.”

Any reply Sif might have made is drowned out by Balder’s indignation. “Grow up, Loki. Why must you still seek attention with childish tricks?” 

“Because this feast you have arranged bores me.” Loki says breezily, now peeling a grape between his long fingers. “But I suppose I will compliment you on the food. One last hurrah, is it, now that Thor is back and your days in the sun come to an end?”

“Imagine kissing that mouth, dear Fandral,” Sif comments quietly without taking her eyes off the princes. “Would that tongue not cut you to shreds?”

“I’ll just have to kiss him elsewhere, then.” Fandral leers, raising his brows suggestively. 

Sif rolls her eyes and pretends to gag, even as a faint irritation courses through her. Fandral is a dear friend, but his habit of casual objectification is often vexing. 

Meanwhile, Balder glares daggers. “Ever the master of untruths, Loki,” he says. “Can you not still your wicked tongue, even on this night?”

“No,” Loki replies tersely and takes his time in consuming the grape. “But you’re welcome to take the challenge and make me.”

There is a clatter of fallen cups and dishes as Balder rises from his seat amidst revelers who are badly pretending nonchalance. “Have a care, Loki, do not dare--”

“My brothers!” Thor interjects, rising less dramatically than Balder, but cutting a more impressive figure than his youngest sibling. “Why do you fight? This is a time for unity and celebration!” 

Thor insists with the sort of good cheer that is as warm as it is infectious. He clasps a massive arm around Balder’s shoulders, which, for all that it looks friendly, actually shoves the youngest prince back into his seat so Thor’s own view of Loki is unobstructed. The god of thunder searches for words yet again, and utterly fails. 

Were they really so different when they were younger? Strange, Sif thinks, because now it just seems silly to label one as the warrior and one as...she can’t even remember what they called Loki, but at this moment, she cannot call them anything but princes of Asgard. If golden Thor radiated glory wrought with charisma and passion, then Loki diffused siren song, full of silver, mystery and darkness. 

A thought comes to her sudden and unbidden for all that it’s irrational: they could rule, together.

“I’ve missed you.” the thunderer says finally, with uncharacteristic tenderness, and Loki smiles faintly.

“Have you?” he teases, with astounding smoothness.

“Of course, I have!” Thor clasps the side of Loki’s neck, fingers seeking out the bare skin between his ceremonial armor. “Stay with us, brother,” he says loudly. “and let us drink to our reunion!”

Cups of ale rise again to rousing cheers and renewed enthusiasm. Thor himself laughs and celebrates with his subjects at this feast in his honor, but to Sif, who knows her friend better than most, he looks as if he celebrates with Loki alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The hour becomes late. The crowd thins, and soon, only Sif is left with the Warriors Three and of course, the princes. To no little surprise, Loki stays as well. More than that, he  _charms_ . Rather than sit beside Thor like a half-forgotten recluse as he used to, he tells stories and delightful anecdotes, accompanied by sorcerous illusions, that make them laugh until they feel lively and light despite the tiredness in their bones.

Over the course of the night, Thor somehow manages to displace everybody from his seat by the fire except for Loki. Thus subtly banished, they huddle among remaining cushions, or in Balder’s case, sprawl right on the bearskin rug covering the floor.

The youngest prince doesn’t seem to mind, however, and even shrugs without any sign of animosity when Fandral brazenly asks about his and Loki’s earlier contention. “Who knows what demons possess my brother?” He yawns, poking at Loki’s boot with his own. “I’m always exhorting the need for effective communication in this family.”

“Then, perhaps you should follow your own counsel,” Loki jabs his own foot at Balder’s calf. “Did you not think I would find out it was you who advised that shapeshifter to plead his case directly to Father without speaking to me?”

Amidst interested looks from Thor and company, Balder blinks slowly and claps a palm over his face. “Ugh, by the Nine, I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

“You didn’t think,” Loki deadpans. “Color me shocked.” 

“Loki, he’s like everybody else!” Balder insists. He rises and shuffles over to peer into Loki’s emerald eyes. “You know Father will not indulge him any more than he’s indulged the others.”

“Indulge who? For what?” Thor asks as soon as the youngest prince finishes, clearly at odds with being left out of his first brother’s life.  

Loki briefly looks recalcitrant, but Thor stares back with similarly stubborn look in his eyes that says he will not be kept out of the matter. 

“Very well, I had rather hoped to keep it within the family, but since you insist.” Loki draws himself up and sweeps a glance across everyone. “A suitor asks Odin-king for my hand in marriage.”

Sif gapes along with the rest of them. It’s silly to be so shocked at the news. Of course, the royal sons were expected to marry--for heirs and political alliances, but for Odin-king to field suitors for his younger son without a word his heir...

“Marriage?” Thor repeats the word wonderingly, as if he’s just noticed a world outside the bubble that had shrunk to himself and Loki since the trickster first appeared at the feast.

“Yes,” Loki replies, as if he were discussing nothing more interesting than a new set of swords in the royal armory. “Svadilfari of Svartalfheimr; he’s not of royalty, but a close relative of the king.”

“That sounds...” Sif watches carefully as Thor frowns to himself, more withdrawn than he’d ever been tonight.

“They think it’s a smart match.” Balder says in a tone that suggests his own ambivalence. “An alliance with the dark elves through marriage will all but guarantee their cooperation if the Fire Giants threaten war.”  

Sif is not sure if Thor hears. His eyes are locked on Loki, who continues toying with an empty cup of ale. She can see a muscle in his jaw tighten and can’t really blame him. Uninterested in political maneuvering he might be, but family mattered to Thor, and Sif doubts even the king could wed his brothers off without informing him. 

When he doesn’t say anything more, however, the topic eventually fades away. The conversation becomes lighthearted again, but Sif isn’t fool enough to think it’s the end. Thor’s ambitions are not his father’s and there’s something about the way he looks at Loki which might just be the impetus needed to thrust him into the political fray.

* * *

Later, when the feast ends, Sif is much too drunk to return to her chambers, let alone protest when Thor kindly puts her over his shoulder to help. Loki porters her new weapon, idly testing its balance as he walks beside Thor along torchlit halls.

He’s surprisingly graceful in his movements. Sif’s desire to comment on it gets hampered by her tongue feeling dry and fat in her mouth, so she lets them converse without interruption.

“Are you happy with this arrangement, brother?” Thor asks.

“It is my duty, like every warrior in Asgard, to ensure the safety of our home.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“There is nothing to be unhappy about, Thor.” Loki sighs, long-sufferingly. “Balder may be insufferable, but he is right: this union will cement our alliances and let us control the proverbial board. Bloody campaigns will only take us so far.”

“Our hegemony can be secured without sacrificing you!” Thor declares. “As king of Asgard--”

“But you’re not king!” Loki interjects like a needle lancing skin, then continues as gently as a drug flowing through veins. “Not yet, brother mine.”

And Thor’s very breath sounds contrite. “I’m just taken by surprise is all.” 

“Well, get used to it. I have  _so_ much to tell you.”

* * *

In the following morning, Sif wakes up amid such grandeur that it could only belong to Thor. He must have instinctively walked to his rooms before realizing his mistake, but couldn’t be bothered to right it. There are no sheets disturbed on the other side of the bed, however, nor does she hear any telltale splashes of morning ablutions.

Even Thor’s balcony is empty in the dewy morning light, so Sif gazes over it onto the training grounds. She just starts thinking about testing her new blade there when a flash of red catches her attention on the adjoining balcony. 

Its Loki, contemplating the horizon with a bitten apple seemingly forgotten in his hand, but the rosegold of it is nothing compared to the agonizingly familiar scarlet cloak draped around the second prince’s pale body--

Startled, Sif realizes exactly where Thor must have gone for the night. She can imagine it too easily--the thunderer caught up in some tale of their adventures, recklessly gesturing and smiling as he wove a more personal story than the one recounted at the feast. Thor would have talked until he’d told Loki everything he’s ever wanted to tell, and Loki--Loki would have put on his mysterious smile, which still wouldn’t have hidden the eagerness in his eyes, nor the enticement on his lips. 

Their words would have become more hushed, then, winding down into soft, earnest overtures until they shed the last few confessions like clothes; until they stood before each other as brothers instead of the prince who saw the world and the prince who stayed behind...

Sif hesitates contemplating what might have happened next. She’s not blind to the fact that it’s Thor’s cloak wound around Loki’s naked body, but it’s not a thing one considers casually, this dalliance between brothers--her royal princes. 

Not even when Loki catches her staring and gives her an acknowledging nod before walking back into his chambers...and the marks on his shoulder emerge fresh and starkly red on his pale skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I robbed everyone of delicious porn by writing this from Sif's POV, and I'm sorry for that.   
> I was robbed too -_-


End file.
